


50%

by oneese



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: AU: your world gets color when you meet your soulmate, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneese/pseuds/oneese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ross isn’t quite sure anymore which skeletons belong in the closet and which in the grave. </p><p>(or <br/>flat colors never quite hurt his eyes as much,<br/>as the neon ones do)</p>
            </blockquote>





	50%

**Author's Note:**

> tw: hospital/death mention
> 
> (crossposted to tumblr)
> 
> (this was the first thing i wrote in this style and while it's a little rocky at first, it gets more in tune with the style one third through or so)

It is like the transition between a world filled with only black, white and grey (somber, lonely, lost) to a world full of neon colors (alive, breathing, real) is halted somewhere in the middle. Ross feels better, more complete than before, even if he’s solely running on adrenaline. He can feel the change in his bones, but the world around him is a weird mix of flat colors and the occasional blotch of grey. 

People had told him about how it would be to meet your soulmate (your other half, the better part of you, the missing puzzle piece, the person made for you, may that be romantically or platonically) and they had talked about neon colors, feeling the buzz of the light on your skin. Yet all Ross gets at that moment is the soft humming of sunlight that isn’t quite white but isn’t really yellow either. 

It is like the colors around him need another boost to completely flourish and shine (to the full capacity of their neon glory). It is like something is still missing. 

And it can’t be, he knows that, because his soulmate is looking right at him (right there, in front of him, if he leans forward just a little more, he could touch him with his fingertips – god, how he wants to - but he doesn’t). 

Something is wrong, but Ross doesn’t say anything. The thoughts get wiped from his mind as his soulmate smiles when their gazes meet. The background to his outline is still somber (some soft yellows, blues and greens stand stark against the grey), but this man (this handsome, rugged, beautiful man) is all color. 

Something is wrong, he can feel it in the way a weight seems to be lifted off his chest but something just as heavy settles in the pit of his stomach, but before he can do (or say, or blink, or think) anything, the air escapes his lungs as arms come up around him. 

He gets locked in an embracement. One that should have felt too tight, too clammy, too weird, because this man is a stranger and Ross doesn’t even know his name, but all he can think about is how right it feels. They fit together like jigsaw pieces and all he can feel is right, right, right. 

+

The colors stay that way, all flat and dimmed, and even if Ross tries not to worry, he still does. He worries, because in the beginning he still had hope; that it’d merely just take a little time. He’d thought back to the old computer stored in his parent’s attic, that had been his at one point and that would take three hours to start up. He compared it to that, but at least the computer actually started up; the colors never did. 

The colors and his eyes just need a little time, he tells himself when he wakes up to a still soft colored world, but it has been three weeks since he met his soulmate and everything is still flat and mediocre. 

At first he thinks it is because of how he actually met his soulmate, a, then, complete stranger. It had happened so quick and the events had blurred into one big memory that he didn’t actually quite remember in details. 

He remembers going out to get groceries, because he’s a grown up man and he cooks for himself (he doesn’t, not really – mac ‘n cheese is really nothing challenging and the only other item in the bag was coco pops). And he recalls bumping into someone and splattering eggs all over the floor and feeling embarrassment twist in his gut. Awkwardness that stuck around for a mere two seconds and was gone as soon as Ross looked up. Cheeks turning an even darker shade of crimson when realization struck. 

The few hours after that are gone from his memory and all he can feel when he tries to make them surface is the bitter taste of disappointment that clouds his mind before he can actually remember why he felt like that (he has an idea but he doesn’t like to think about that). 

Perhaps he just needs to get to know his soulmate, fall in love with him and build a life together. Perhaps the beginning didn’t bring the explosion of color with it, because there was no familiarity between them. And maybe, just maybe, it would take time for the colors to start bleeding into his life. Perhaps he would just need to learn who his soulmate is and match their traits and personality and see how far they can get. 

So Ross spends the next three weeks trying to get to know his soulmate. He asks him what his favorite color is, before he actually asks him what his name is. His soulmate grins at him, ruffles his hair and tell him that he likes green and his name’s Alex Smith. 

When the fourth week rolls around, Ross is certain he can fall in love with Alex. There’s already something between them that he can only describe as fireworks and sparks (even though he’d never say that out loud) and it makes him smile in the morning, especially the ones he spends at the other’s apartment, that they work so well. 

He wraps his arms around Alex every time they lay in bed together (sleeping, talking or just breathing) and he decides that he likes the (soft, flat, barely there but somehow still so noticeable) shades of green and red Alex carries around with him in his hair and clothes.  
+

They’re lying on Alex’ bed and nothing interesting is on the television so they just stare at the ceiling and talk about space, stars and soulmates. It is an easy conversation that flows soft between them and for once Ross can’t find it in him to mind the faded brown color of the bedroom walls. 

It’s Alex who intertwines their fingers, but it’s Ross who presses their palms together a little bit more. It is a nice and easy quiet that settles between them as Alex finally finishes his story about how he and his brother had always sneaked out to watch meteor showers. 

Ross doesn’t mind the quiet, instead he allows it to wrap itself around him and for a moment it’s a blissfully silent, which he wouldn’t change for anything in the world. A second later, Alex proves him wrong as he slowly hums a song underneath his breath and it’s even better. 

The other hasn’t actually sung out loud in his presence yet, but Ross knows he likes to do it. He has heard the prove from when the other is in the shower or when a song on the radio comes on that is too catchy to not sing along to. He always makes sure Alex has no idea he has heard him. It would seem a little too much like breaking into his privacy, because if there is one thing Ross has learnt the last couple of weeks is that just because you seemingly are a match made in heaven doesn’t mean that it is enough to have a perfect life. 

They have the foundation in their hearts, in their arms and the way they wrap around one another perfectly, but they haven’t got all the bricks yet, but it’s alright; Ross is sure that they will gather them all with time. 

When Alex finishes humming (Ross is pretty sure he heard the song earlier on the radio today), he doesn’t let the silence settle back. Instead the bearded man turns around on his side, dragging their laced hands close to his chest. 

‘’It is a bit weird, isn’t it?’’ Ross doesn’t have to look away from the ceiling to know the other’s eyes are focused on him. He feels the stare on his face, but it isn’t a burning glare that bores itself into his skull, it’s more like a gentle reminder that he’s there and this is real. 

Ross hums, but still doesn’t look away from the ceiling, only stretches his fingers against Alex’. 

He noticed somewhere in the second week that Alex’ fingers are longer and slightly bulkier. It fits with the rest of him, because when they stand toe to toe the other is maybe an inch taller than him and even when it isn’t a lot (and it isn’t anything to brag about, really) he had still grinned in victory and pumped his fist in the air.

Alex releases his hands in favor of making hand gestures that don’t actually make any sense. For a second Ross turns his head to see him making crude gestures towards him and he can’t say he is actually surprised anymore. 

It took a little bit (twelve days) before Alex was comfortable enough to actually relax enough around him to make dirty jokes that were probably made up by twelve-year-old kids, but were funny to the both of them anyway. The constant teasing wasn’t minded and when he noticed that; he didn’t only stop hitting the brakes, but he probably tore them out and threw them down the road while speeding. 

When Ross puts a stop to the inserting gesture Alex was making by grabbing his left hand with one of his own, he finally continues. His voice is a little dreamy and he can see the sleep in his eyes. It is late, but he doesn’t really want to sleep yet, so he doesn’t mention it (he sort of likes the tired ache in his bones because it represents new found satisfaction instead of actual exhaustion). 

‘’The whole soulmate origin story, myth, whatever.’’ Ross can feel his palm move underneath his own, almost like he wants to make gestures again to explain himself but he taps fingers against his knuckles to stop the fidgeting. That it works is a slight shock, but he guesses it’s one of those perks that comes with being soulmates. 

The light is just a flickering of soft yellow against flat brown and making out Alex’ features is quite the task but one thing Ross knows for sure is that he is smiling. Even after a mere five weeks he can recall the lines around his eyes and mouth and how his entire face seems to light up whenever he smiles. He finds himself smiling a little as well.

‘’Alex, you know that’s just a fairy tale, right?’’ He taps their joined hands against Alex’ chest as if to comfort him. In that moment he feels a lot like a parents who tells their child that Santa isn’t real or like a teacher who has to put a halt to a student’s dreams of ever getting a career as superman’s sidekick. 

Alex wraps his other hand around Ross’ one clasped in his left. It seems too much of an uncomfortable position than it’s worth. ‘’Hey! I like my fairy tales to be accurate, mate.’’

‘’You told me your favorite fairy tale was Little Red Riding Hood, which totally is realistic.’’ Ross snorts and he feels like the darkness around them is swallowing their conversation skills and rational thinking. He can’t actually recall talking about fairy tales with anyone in his adult life, but he doesn’t really mind. 

‘’You put me on the spot, I had just met you three hours before! What was I supposed to say?’’

‘’Little Red Smithy Hood.’’ 

‘’And big bad wolf Ross, yeah?’’ They laugh and it is three in the morning, but talking about fairy tales seems like the most natural thing in the world.

+

A week after the fairy tale conversation (as Ross has nicely taken to calling it), he asks Alex if he wants to be his boyfriend, because Ross knows that being soulmates doesn’t immediately mean romantic partners, and he (really, desperately) wants to do it right. 

He makes dinner, because apparently Alex likes mac ‘n cheese a lot and it’s really the only thing he can cook, because steak doesn’t really count.

(‘’A true match made in heaven, Ross. Mac ‘n cheese is the prove of it.’’).

And he lights candles and makes sure he doesn’t light his living room on fire. 

He thinks a few seconds about doing a whole speech, but he knows he isn’t like that and Alex doesn’t seem like the type for big romantic gestures either so he just settles on making the macaroni and having a somewhat clean apartment. 

It does the trick, because when they are pointing at the screen and making sure that the whole apartment complex knows that they totally dislike Dustin, a TV host. 

(‘’Mac ‘n cheese and hating Dustin? Ross, how could you not be my soulmate.’’). 

And Ross just casually (while sweating and clicking his tongue rapidly) asks if the other would like to date. He is met with a ‘isn’t that what we’re doing right now’ (which Alex says with his mouth full of macaroni because he really does like mac ‘n cheese) and yeah, for once Ross actually agrees with him; how could they not be soulmates?

+

They stick glow in the dark stars, planets and moons to the ceiling of Alex’ bedroom five months into their relationship and even if it’s still a little early Ross has started to see Alex’ apartment more like home than his own. He doesn’t know why they use the stickers, really, but they had been just a pound and for some reason they ended up buying five. 

(They glow a dull kind of green, but Ross likes them enough to buy them for his own ceiling as well).

+

Ross buys a picture book, which he’s pretty sure was made for four year olds, of the soulmate myth titled Explosions (and other stuff)! for Alex’ birthday as a joke. He doesn’t expect Alex to actually like it or read it entirely to him that night. 

He doesn’t remember a lot of it, because Alex was carding his fingers through his hair and it made his eye lids drop and the tension bleed from his shoulders.

He gets the basic idea of the whole story. How a star broke into pieces one day and from the pieces and star dust rose two beings; made out of the same material and able to fit together perfectly. Yet the explosion had been too bright for either of them to keep their sight and they lost each other in the vast mass of space. Their worlds melted into shadows and the only way they could see beyond the darkness was if they reunited. 

The only thing that really stuck with Ross was the comment Alex made at the end.

‘’You would think that from a mass explosion like a star a million beings could come, not just two.’’ 

+

Their first ‘I love you’ is a joke. Ross has never in his life attended a game of airsoft, but Alex promises him that he’ll absolutely love it. He also shoots his boyfriend a smile and a wink, which both hold just as much promise for a whole other adventure, that make him stutter slightly as he agrees. 

It turns out that Alex was wrong. It snows heavily and Ross is completely covered before he even has time to shoot the airsoft gun the first time. He misses his target and hits a tree, which really doesn’t help him stay hidden. He winces slightly as he actually gets hit by the opposite team, while ducking past the next projectile. He lost Alex in the first five minutes and he’s cold and also really, really bad; and in short: Ross isn’t too happy with coming out here in the middle of the winter. 

Ross doesn’t like airsoft too much so far, but he does like the way Alex suddenly comes to his rescue. Although to be fair his boyfriend should probably have done something earlier, because now he has a big bruise along his thigh and that isn’t fun at all. 

He makes a bigger deal out of it than it is and clutches his leg to his chest and puts a hand to his forehead. He sees Alex grin before he too goes along with the act. 

He hovers over him, clutching at the soaked airsoft gear. ‘’Have I come too late? Don’t die on me now, mate!’’ 

‘’Too late.’’

‘’No! I love you.’’ And Alex falls in a heap against his chest and they’re both laughing and not for the first time Ross really believes that Alex is his soulmate even if the colors around him are still dull (he has become skilled at ignoring his bland surroundings). He hasn’t ever been able to laugh with someone as hard as he does in that moment, especially not while shivering in the snow, that is still falling from the sky, and neither of them really seems to mind.

The words don’t really register to either to them and he blames the adrenaline and the way Alex’ weight is heavy on his chest and his warmth seeps through the clammy material of the vest, he’s wearing. 

Their team doesn’t win, but Ross feels like he still does when Alex smile seems to glow when he later tells him he loves him too.

+

They don’t actually fight a lot, but that doesn’t mean they never do. 

Ross isn’t surprised that they fall out every couple months over little things that shouldn’t matter much. He isn’t shocked that their arguing seems to increase when they decide after a year of being in an actual relationship to move in together. 

It isn’t his first relationship or even his first serious relationship, because really it wasn’t as if your soulmate could be the only one you loved your whole life. And he knows the not even the perfect relationship is built without bumps on the road. He knows he should expect crooks and sharp edges, but he isn’t as certain that Alex expects them as well. 

The other seems to think Ross is definitely breaking up with him every time he snaps at him for not washing the dishes, making him find moldy, half eaten chips every other day, or not doing the laundry when asked, because the mountain of clothes in the corner of the bathroom has started to look like Erebor. 

Ross makes sure to remind him gently (with a kiss to the temple and a soft push in the direction of the bathroom) that having arguments is just something he signed up to when they started dating. Alex grumbles, but buys him Kinder next time he goes to the store to make up for it. 

+

Ross sees Alex mostly in shades of burgundy red and forest green. He kind of reminds him of a fireplace (because of the red, but also of the warmth he seems to emit) and pine trees and every time he even thinks about it, he feels his face turn red. They aren’t a sappy couple and he doesn’t really do big words (he prefers big actions really; like getting Alex a new guitar for no reason besides that it looked nice and signed by some singer Alex mentioned once or twice), but he occasionally still thinks about it. 

+

It is on their fourth year anniversary that Ross feels like someone pulled away the rug from beneath his feet and made him stumble. 

He clutches Alex’ hand between his own, closes his eyes and tries to focus on the soft shades of green and red that have become as familiar as the back of his own hand. But not even closing his eyes helps, because the colors (neon; bright and overwhelming) seem to even find him in the darkness of his own mind. 

At first Ross tries to act like nothing has happened, but but his hands are shaking, his bottom lip is trembling as he attempts to act like he doesn’t know who actually caused the firework of colors in his head; it isn’t convincing in the slightest. 

The man stands at the center of everything. His colors are vibrant in a way that Alex’ have never been (all brown and yellow; reminding Ross of mud and bananas and he doesn’t know since when that became an appealing combination), but just as breathtaking. 

Alex notices the moment something is wrong when Ross doesn’t release his grip even when they’re already seated. He can see it in the other’s expression as it softens around the edges and his smile is almost pitiful; it is like he knows, knows and understands. His knuckles are going white and Ross knows he should let go before he actually breaks something, but he doesn’t. 

His boyfriend (his goddamn soulmate) just keeps regarding him with a look that is a weird mix of pity and philosophical wisdom, that Ross knows he doesn’t actually possess. He feels weird, but mostly ashamed, because even when he hasn’t done anything (he doesn’t even know the waiter’s name), he still feels like somehow he has cheated on the person who was supposed to be made for him. 

Finally, Alex squeezes his hand back and he doesn’t seem mad (and Ross has no idea why he isn’t seething because this must not be what he was expecting when he said yes to being Ross’ boyfriend). Alex just signals for the check with his free hand, squeezes Ross’ again with the other and pays with crumpled bills. 

(He hasn’t ever related to old, rolled up bills, but there’s a first time for anything).

+

They arrive at home around eleven (their home; it lives and breathes out both of them from the pictures on the wall to the two pair of discarded muddy shoes by the door) and Ross lets himself drop in an armchair. 

Everything is (too) bright now and it hurts his eyes (and heart, and everything). He rubs his temple with one hand and he wishes for flat colors and soft shades for the first time in his life. 

\+ 

Ross thinks somewhere some kind of entity is laughing at his situation. Somewhere (somehow) a god is peering down from a mountain and ruining his life (turning it to ash by lighting it on fire with wrongly placed desires and poor choices). Somewhere a god is turning his despair (his confusion, his anger, his love) into toxic gas and filtering it out into the air (gods don’t need to breath).

\+ 

There are no hard words and there isn’t any (justified) anger. There’s just Alex who looks at him with an unreadable emotion etched into the lines of his face. There’s just Alex who touches his cheeks with his hands as if he’s going to fall apart beneath his fingertips (and he might, he might, he will). 

Alex looks at him and he’s all neon green and bright burgundy red. There are no pale colors, there isn’t any flat brown on the walls and it isn’t right. He feels it burn inside of his chest (like a forest fire slowly starting; spreading slowly along the ground, linking through fallen leaves) and everything feels wrong. 

Alex doesn’t say anything, just lets his fingers skim along his features, as if he’s trying to burn the memory into his mind (as if he’s preparing to let go but not forget). Ross wants to reach up and capture his hands with his own, press kisses to each of his knuckles and promise he won’t be going anywhere (but his mother always told him not to promise things he isn’t certain about). 

He hangs his head and studies the carpet on the floor. It is bright now, brighter than when they bought it and brighter than when they laid it down and it’s all wrong (too blue, too blue, too blue). He can’t escape this and the blue carpet stares back at him as if to confirm the thought. 

Fingers wrap themselves around his chin and tilt it upwards. Ross faces (glowing, bright, beautiful) blue eyes and a sad smile when he looks up finally. When he looks up at Alex, he sees storming eyes and a faked smile (and he is still so beautiful, surrounded by halos of bright colors Ross thought he’d never see). 

The pad of Alex’ thumb presses against the side of his mouth and it’s the last touch as he finally draws away. Ross wants to reach out again, feel his skin against his own to remind himself he’s still there (and he could, but coulds aren’t woulds and the other has stepped away before he makes up his mind). 

+

Alex says he will sleep on the couch for the night and Ross can’t see how that’s fair, but he doesn’t argue or say anything back at all (but he can feel the foundation in their hearts give in and he can almost imagine the walls collapsing). 

When Ross looks up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers plastered along the ceiling, he notices, for the first time that night, that the heavy (but bearable – more bearable than this) feeling in his stomach is gone for the first time in four years. 

+

He wakes at six and sees the sun rise from behind the hills. He has never seen it in its full glory but it takes his breath away. It casts a buzzing yellow light across the city and for a moment (a mere moment, just a second) he forgets the chaos that his life is outside the bedroom. 

He watches the sun glide up into the sky and he wonders. The worries, the concerns and the confusion come together to form a storm. A storm that’s gathering strength inside his chest, behind his ribcage, and waiting to be released. 

Ross takes a bag from the closet and makes a careful selection of his clothes and his toiletries. He takes what he needs, but no more than that (he has already taken too much). He zips the bag up and he knows. 

He knows that he doesn’t want to see Alex leave through the front door of the apartment. He knows that it would be the last straw. He knows that the dam would break and the storm would come roll around to break (and destroy, and swallow) all in its path. And he knows, he knows, he knows, while he wishes he didn’t.

So before Alex leaves (and before Ross can come apart at the seams), he goes instead. 

He closes the door silently, runs his fingers along the wood and the number and he leaves before Alex can. 

(And it feels a lot like he’s closing a book he loves midway without finding out the end).

\+ 

He comes apart at the seams anyway.

+

He leaves England behind. He leaves behind the smell of fish and the clattering of unexpected rain storms. He leaves behind home (and so much more than that) and he steps on the first flight he can. 

He feels lost, as he looks out of the window of the plane and down. He doesn’t know what to feel (he feels numb, numb, numb) and he doesn’t know what to think, so he doesn’t. 

He walks the beaches of Spain, feels the white sand underneath his feet and between his toes. He watches the water sparkle (blue, blue and so, so unbelievably bright) and it reminds him faintly of things (people) he needs to forget. 

He travels through Portugal and meets street artists that have nowhere to go (just like him). He can’t offer them anything but his company, but they let him stay through the day. One attempts to speak to him in broken English, but the words seem to shatter on his tongue (and that hits home). 

He gets stuck on a boat to Morocco and he is sitting next to piles of fish and a man who smells of beer. He doesn’t speak English, but they play cards and charades and it gets him through the trip. He leaves the smell of fish behind him another time. 

+

He’s in South-America when he breaks. He doesn’t know where he actually is, not really, but he doesn’t speak the language and he’s thinned enough to feel his ribs beneath his fingertips and he’s lost (and desperate, and homesick, and alone).

His fingers (bony and pale) grip the plastic of the payphone tightly and he dials the number he knows by heart (Ross guesses that’s the only part of the foundation that still stands up straight). It goes over once, twice, three times before it gets picked up. 

It isn’t Alex who answers and it’s not a voice he recognizes. 

Ross has no right to be angry, but he is. He has no right to be, but he feels his blood turn to fire and he feels it spread like wild fire through his veins. 

He deserves this, he knows (he does, he knows, but he wishes he didn’t), but it still hurts. 

Alex deserves better than him, he knows and it hurts. 

He hangs up the payphone. 

+

When Ross looks up that night, he isn’t faced with a ceiling covered in glowing star stickers, but with the real version of a night sky – the galaxy. He feels oddly empty at that.  
+

His money is running out and Ross knows his end will come in a dingy motel room in Mexico. He doesn’t care. Instead he looks at himself in a mirror and sees lines etched into his skin. He knows each and every one of them has a story behind them. 

The newer ones are around his eyes and he knows most of them come from days he would rather forget (lines around his eyes – as if he has seen too much). The older ones curl around his mouth and he knows they come from days he cherishes and holds close, days from seemingly another life (lines around his mouth – as if he has laughed too much). 

+

It doesn’t end in Mexico. 

+

He wakes up to bright burgundy red and neon green. Everything around him is blurry and his mouth is dry. He thinks of the waves he saw in Spain when a pair of blue eyes faces him and he smiles. 

(He hasn’t forgotten the things - people - even when he wanted to). 

+

The second time he wakes up it is to vibrant yellow and brown. He doesn’t recognize anything and his brain feels like it has been scrambled. There is something going into his arm through a tube and all he can think of is that it has to be liquid fire, because everything feels like it’s been set aflame. 

There’s someone talking to him in a deep voice. His features are kind and his voice is soft. Ross feels warmth radiate off him and wants to wrap himself up in it. He’s cold and he has missed home more than anything (and for some reason something inside him tells him that this man – stranger – is part of that – of home). 

+

The first time he really wakes up, he is faced with the person he wanted to spare. 

Alex doesn’t look much different from afar, but when Ross looks closely he can spot the differences. There are new lines embedded in his face; ones that Ross wasn’t around for (and the regret sings in his chest, louder than a church’s choir). His beard has grown out and he seems restless in a way he never was before (restless in the way Ross was drifting from city to city, from coast to coast, trying to escape something he couldn’t quite lose). 

The silence hangs between them and even when Ross wants to break it, shatter it and tell the other how he is sorry and how he just wanted to spare him the pain (how he was selfish in a way; how he didn’t want to be the one left so he was the one to leave). Yet Ross says nothing, he presses his lips together and watches the IV in his arm (wondering why, why, why; he deserved to die). 

Alex doesn’t break the silence either, he just adjusts his position in the plastic chair a meter from the bed and stares. He stares at the way Ross’ hair is longer now and how a few strands manage to hang in front of his face. He observes how the other has scars he hadn’t before and how his cheeks are hallow now. He watches a shadow of the person he knew and realizes he doesn’t quite understand him anymore. 

He didn’t (doesn’t) understand why his soulmate left and he was (is) angry. Angry, because how could Ross have left if he’d truly loved him. The way he just ran out when things got rocky had left Alex fuming, but over the months that’d passed; the same anger had given away to sadness. A broken sadness that needs time and explanations (and for the first time in months Alex has hope he will get them).

Ross stares at the IV and wonders and Alex stares at Ross and hopes. 

+

Ross isn’t quite sure anymore which skeletons belong in the closet (it’s him, him, him) and which in the grave (it’s him, him, him). 

+

He doesn’t see the yellow or the brown during the rest of his hospital stay. 

+

There’s a lot Ross expects when the doctors tell him he is fine to go (to a lost) home. He expects whispered goodbyes or angry words and accusations. Ross would take anything besides this fragile silence that neither of them dares to break. 

He expects absurd requests or demands for answers. He wants to explain himself, lay down all his thoughts and try and justify (and fail) his actions. He wants to answer every question Alex might have, but he doesn’t get the chance to do so. 

Alex just touches his cheeks with the same gentleness as before (as if to check that it’s still the same) and then presses fingers against his throat. He doesn’t ask anything of him, doesn’t demand, doesn’t request or wonder out loud (but Ross sees the question marks reflected in his eyes). 

He lets his hands fall away from Ross’ cheeks and instead grasps one of his hands between his own. For a fleeting moment Ross wonders how weird they must look like that; standing toe to toe in front of the double doors of the hospital, before Alex snaps him out of it with a brush of lips against his temple.

Then, for the first time and later than Ross expected, he does request something.

‘’Come home.’’

+

Ross can see the sun go down while they’re in Alex’ car. He sees it sink beneath the hills and he wonders how he hadn’t realized it before; that even in all its yellow and orange glory; it has nothing over neon green and burgundy red. 

+

Ross doesn’t know what he expects when Alex unlocks the door with a quiet click. Perhaps he expected to walk into the past, to take a trip back in time, and arrive in an apartment exactly like he left it. Perhaps he expected this all to just be done and over with. Perhaps he expected to be able to just pick up where he left off – laundry needed to be done; Erebor had been growing. 

It isn’t like that. He doesn’t walk into the past and nothing is the same. He walks into a future where his mistakes are laid open and bare and he has to deal with them. There is nothing like just picking up where he left off, there is only silence and change. 

The apartment looks just as lived in, but it is different. It’s neater than it has ever been before and that can’t be Alex’ doing. He’s in the same apartment as months ago, the one he signed for as well, but he feels out of place. 

Alex’ hand rests heavily on his shoulder and for a moment he debates shrugging it off, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he needs to know that this is real and that Alex is here. 

He has had dreams, while he was in Brazil. He dreamed of rainy afternoons and waking up in warm arms (and he had missed it – missed it so much that he almost had taken a boat straight to Europe). 

He’s steered towards the living room and nothing that he expected faces him there. It is another challenge all together and one that Ross hadn’t even thought about. It is a challenge of brown and yellow, of vibrant neon colors. It is a challenge of a brunet waiter of who he doesn’t know the name (but is connected to anyway).

+

His name’s Chris Trott and his favorite color is red. His favorite fairytale is Goldilocks and he’s Ross’ soulmate. 

+

When Alex finally does ask for answers, Ross tells him he was scared, confused and had no idea how to react and it’s all true but really only the half-truth. 

He doesn’t tell him how absolutely terrified he was (so much that his hands shook while checking into the flight that brought him to Madrid), he doesn’t tell him how he never thought he was good enough for Alex after that night (because he’d screwed up and the other deserved so much – so much more) and he doesn’t tell him about how he looked up at the sky, saw the stars and thought of Alex. 

+

Chris and Alex accept him back in their life with kindness. They include him in their daily activities with care, they offer him a place to sleep at night (and it’s a bit crowded really; three adult males in one bed but Ross finds the comfort he needs in the curve of Alex’ back and Chris’ fingers thrumming a beat against his shoulder) and it all becomes routine within a week or two.

And it’s enough to stop Ross from asking question. He has many he wants to ask (how did you meet? how did this between you start? are you soulmates too? am I worth enough to be here as well?), but doesn’t. 

+

The first dinner they have together since Ross got back is mostly silence. Ross knows he’s the reason for the awkwardness and he hates himself for it. He wants to speak, but he’s afraid he will say the wrong things and everything he has gotten back in the last few days will be forcefully taken from him again. 

So instead of speaking, Ross observes. He observes the way Chris has claimed the chair next to Alex and quietly straightens both his and Alex’ forks and knives. He watches as Alex laughs while he pushes the spoons sideways. It is easy (and it is love – he feels slightly bitter about that). 

+

The second dinner Ross doesn’t let the quiet settle down between them. He also doesn’t let Chris take out spoons, forks and knives. He tells the brunet that it’s just fries and burgers and you don’t need silverware for that. 

He tells them about Spain and he tells them about Portugal. He tells them about the fast way the Spanish beaches could make you feel enchanted and he shows them a trick he picked up from the street artist that spoke to him in broken English (he breaks a plate, but he can see Alex grin and hear Chris laugh so he doesn’t mind too much that he has to clean it up).

+

They settle into a routine. Chris will cook, Alex will annoy him and occasionally Ross will whisk him away so the food doesn’t get burnt three times in one night. 

Over dinner Ross will tell them every story he picked up in the months he spent away (he leaves out some, but neither of them needs to know that). He explains every line around his eyes with a memory. While in exchange Chris tells him about his entire life and Alex mentions a few things about what he’s been doing during that time.

Neither of them mentions how they met or how they came to be and Ross doesn’t press. 

(A story for another time – another life –, he muses to himself).

+

He asks for the story some time later. It’s been a year since he came back and he’s alright (they’re alright). He lays in the middle of the bed with Chris hooked underneath his arm while Alex is brushing his teeth in the bathroom (it’s all ridiculously domestic that Ross can’t help but grin). 

His fingers card through brown hair and he looks down at the other, not quite sure if he’s asleep or not. He tugs at the locks and Chris groans, calls him a twat and tells him to quit that, because he just really wants to sleep.

Ross stops the tugging, but asks a question instead. One he knows the other wasn’t expecting when he tenses and opens his eyes. 

‘’What, Ross?’’

‘’You and Alex, you guys never told me.’’

‘’It’s not a big secret, if that’s what you think, rather uneventful really. But when you see your soulmate crying, you tend to want to help them and you know,’’

Ross frowns and he almost interrupts saying: I wasn’t there, before it clicks. 

Oh. Oh. 

Before he can ask anything else, Alex walks into the room, turns off the light and kisses him on the lips before pressing a kiss to Chris’ hair. 

A whispered goodnight is all he manages to croak out after that.

+

They redecorate the bedroom and hang up new pictures (of the three of them this time, ones that make them all laugh). They paint the walls a different color, because the bright brown of the walls isn’t as appealing as three years ago and they make sure to clean out the closet (they find no skeletons in there – it’s a sigh of relief). The only thing they don’t touch or change is the ceiling with all its glow-in-the-dark stars and Ross wraps his arms around both Alex and Chris when they decide on that.

It has been two years (exactly, he knows – they all know) since Ross came back and his t-shirt is coated with paint stains and he can’t find it in himself to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed !!


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